


Always A Pleasure, Never A Chore

by lookingfortherainbow



Series: Service Kink AU [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Bhficfest, Bottom Harry, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Harry Styles, First Kiss, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Servitude kink, Sharing a Bed, Shower Sex, Submissive Harry, Top Louis Tomlinson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:27:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25013149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingfortherainbow/pseuds/lookingfortherainbow
Summary: They’d existed in this space for quite some time now, toeing the line of confessing feelings. They’d never crossed it though, and for some reason, it only made Harry that much more frantic, that much more determined to prove to Louis through housekeeping that he should be his one and only choice.There was something so domestic, so right--as if Harry was shaped and destined for it--about creating a routine that mainly revolved around caring for Louis.-Prompt: 131. Louis' leg ends up in a cast after an accident playing football and Harry being the wonderful friend he is decides to appoint himself as Louis' personal servant to help out. Harry realizes he likes being bossed around a little too much after Louis starts to take advantage of Harry's kindness. Service Kink in a Friends to Lovers would be great :)
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: Service Kink AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026948
Comments: 32
Kudos: 446
Collections: Bottom Harry Fic Fest





	Always A Pleasure, Never A Chore

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to the admin(s?) for being so patient with me and putting on this awesome fest! <3 I loved writing this, and hope it is all that whoever submitted the prompt hoped it would be!
> 
> This was also my first time writing servitude kink, and it was a fun challenge! 
> 
> Song title is from Black Flamingo by The Wombats.

All throughout knowing Louis, Harry had formed a long list of things he admired about him. There were so many aspects to him, so many layers to his personality that Harry sometimes became overwhelmed by just how many qualities there  _ were _ to admire, to adore in his best friend. Sure, they had only known each other since last year, Harry’s first year at Uni (making that Louis’ second), but Harry already had considered him his best friend since the teasing, ‘Hi’, thrown at him, Louis’ cheeky smile curling over the word, making Harry’s insides twist up, trembling with hope that uni wouldn’t be as bad as he had feared. 

It was like he’d found that best friend he’d always hoped for through the years. With everything Harry talked about, every strange new obsession or concern, Louis indulged him, supported him, comforted him. So, it was only natural for him to be in a constant state of awe. After all, he’d never meet anyone remotely like Louis again, he was sure of this. 

Something else he was also sure of was that not one of Louis’ footie mates could beat him on the pitch. If there was one aspect of Louis Harry could openly admire as intensely as he admired other aspects of him only internally, privately, it was his athleticism. As unforgiving as the sun was on the boys that afternoon as they played on the soft, green pitch, so Louis’ swift skill with maneuvering a ball with the insides and outside of his graceful feet was on the other boys. Harry had been dragged out of his hall by a bright eyed and bushy-tailed Louis in the early hours of the afternoon on this sunny Saturday--which might as well have been sunrise for Louis’ body clock. It was all a game, a fun little act they kept up. Harry would whinge and complain about Louis being obsessed with the sport as they left the Halls, claiming the only time it was fun to play with balls was in the bedroom. Louis would roll his eyes at the terrible pun, toss that bed head mane of hair that sat atop his head, and tell him not to be so insecure about his cute, uncoordinated limbs. 

This resulted in Harry blushing so hard he couldn't speak, and Louis smirking to himself at the ability he had to ruffle Harry’s normal poised feathers.

Currently, Harry wasn’t using either of his “cute, uncoordinated” legs, because he’d opted to sit on the sidelines and take pictures of his best friend in action. He was compiling a whole file of pictures to use for a scrapbook he’d make and give to Louis on his birthday. Granted, his birthday was, like, three months away, but one could never be too prepared for the best person in the world’s birthday gift. He was convinced it was no mistake the world was gifted with Louis’ presence on Christmas Eve. He came a day before the mythical Jesus, and if that wasn’t the show-up of all eternity, then Harry didn’t know what was. 

It was all going great, and Louis was having no trouble with playing under the knowledge a camera lens was focused on him--he played better under pressure, he’d told Harry once--until Oli’s foot skidded when he attempted to steal the ball, Louis couldn’t catch himself fast enough with his arms, and Harry suddenly had taken a horrifying shot of where everything went completely  _ not _ great. 

-*-

“Well,” Louis grunted, “This is utter shite.”

Harry couldn’t manage to speak, knuckles white where they gripped the steering wheel. It kept replaying in his head--the sight of Louis curled up in a ball as he clutched his knee on the pitch, Oli, Zayn, and Liam hovering round him as they realized Louis’ leg had seriously been fucked up. It had all happened so fast, Harry not thinking, but simply doing, as he had commanded everyone to get away from his best mate, the person he treasured most in his life, maybe even more than his own mum. In a rush, he’d scooped up all of Louis’ lithe and lean muscled weight in his arms to transport him to the hospital. 

They hit a bump in the road, and Louis let out a small whimper of pain, his uneven breaths fogging up the window on the side of the passenger seat he was pressing the side of his face against. His cheekbone would be bruised if he kept leaning against that small ledge on the door, and Harry wanted to pull him away. Panicking silently, Harry gritted his teeth, eyes slipping back repeatedly through the drive to watch how Louis was clutching at his knee, leg awkwardly stretched out in front of him. Those precious lines that formed at the ends of his eyes were creasing his face, only Harry could take no joy in the sight of it, because they were being caused by a great deal of pain instead of happiness. He never thought he’d want to wipe Louis’ face clear of the--until now.

When Louis didn’t say anything snarky to Harry about not getting a big ego because he could carry him with ease as he was pulled gently from the parked car, Harry wanted to cry. Something was seriously wrong with his leg, and Harry’s skin was breaking out in a cold sweat the longer he went without Louis’ teasing comments he didn’t realize he’d ended up relying on for comfort so heavily. So much of his young life had been filled with lonely silence, and since meeting Louis, he’d not had to endure such a thing any longer. Louis’ raspy voice was always there to pull him back from the brink of overthinking, always witty, quick with a joke to brighten the dark corners of Harry’s mind. Even when he was close to sleep, his ears were filled with Louis’ low murmurings, scratchy voice soft in a way that only the moon’s appearance in the night sky could bring out in him. They skyped at night, the two of them making it a routine over time without really meaning to. So, now the air was left cold around them without the bright, excited tone Louis’ voice warmed it with. 

So far, Harry had held it together quite well, he thought. He hadn’t cried yet, he had been clear headed enough to drive Louis to the hospital, he’d had enough strength in him to carry Louis to the emergency wing of the hospital. But he felt his resolve to be calm and collected for Louis break at the nurse’s words spoken to him as she helped Harry put Louis in a wheelchair.

“You’ll have to stay in the waiting room while we examine him,” she explained, trying to take control of the handles on the back of Louis’ wheelchair. 

Harry’s insides spasmed, he fish-mouthed, whole body indignant at the command. How could this nurse think for one second he was leaving Louis’ side? On the pitch only a half hour ago, what felt like ages ago to him, Louis had been glowing. Now, his skin was drained of color, pale as only the tone of Harry’s upper thighs that hid beneath jean shorts in the summer should look. 

“No,” Harry blurted, vision blurring with panicky tears. 

“Harry,” Louis managed to scold, the utterance of his name doing nothing to calm Harry’s nerves, as it was meant to, when it was spoken in such a frail tone. 

The nurse was gearing up to argue with him again, but Harry was having none of it. 

“No. I’m his boyfriend. I’m coming with,” he blurted, voice forceful despite the wobbling. He was sure if his skin hadn’t already bloomed red with the anxiety that spread from his very veins, the nurse would’ve questioned the blush that deepened on his cheeks and grown suspicious. 

But she only raised her eyebrows at him, shrugging and letting Harry maintain his white knuckled grip on Louis’ wheelchair. Louis gave no reaction to Harry’s utterance, still clutching his knee gingerly, and that only made him worry more.

When he wheeled him into the room to be examined, he couldn’t help but nudge a finger against the back of Louis’ cold neck. If he’d been of a more calm state of mind, he might’ve noticed the goosebumps that spread over Louis’ skin in answer. Instead, he only took note of the way Louis leaned back into the touch, even if it was the slightest bit. 

-*-

“You know what, this is fucking bullshit,” Louis grunted, trying to maneuver out of the passenger seat on his own. 

They’d finally arrived back at the Halls, and Harry would think Louis was only getting worse if it hadn’t been for the fact that he’d started grumbling half-way through the trip back. It seemed the pain meds the doctor had given him were kicking in, and he was thankful to have what would’ve been a still and too quiet atmosphere in the car disrupted by Louis’ occasional, indignant comments.

“It’s not bullshit, Lou, it’s doctor’s orders,” Harry reminded him, trying to figure out some way to stop Louis from emerging from the car like that. 

He was bound to injure himself worse if he continued. 

“I don’t take orders,” Louis puffed, trying to swing his leg, that was now encased in a bulky cast, out the door. “Especially not from doctors.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes and Louis’ efforts to swat his outstretched hands away, Harry gripped onto Louis’ waist. 

“Mate, I’m feeling right cross, not quite in the mood for cuddles,” Louis argued, all while he allowed Harry to help him out of the car. 

The sass in his tone helped Harry breathe a little better. He seemed to be coming back to himself. 

“Mhm, sure. We’ll see about that,” he mumbled, giving Louis his crutches. 

The whole way to Louis' room, he was sighing, and Harry could tell he was trying not to show how much this really was aggravating him. 

“I could’ve carried you, you know,” he murmured. 

“You could’ve carried me? I’m not helpless, Harold. Just because I’ve got some stupid patellar fracture doesn’t mean I’m going to have you carrying me on your back like some servant maid. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“What if I  _ want _ to be your servant,” Harry said under his breath, watching Louis struggle to keep the rhythm of walking with crutches going. 

Louis didn’t reply with anything but he knew he’d heard, could feel those analytical, clear blue eyes zero in on him. The attention made something squirm inside him, and he was itching to change the subject. 

“So, you should probably call your mum. Let her know what’s happened,” Harry brought up. 

Louis’ piercing gaze softened and then he rolled his eyes. “Oh, boy, I’m going to get an earful from her. Not to mention lots more anatomical information I’ll forget within the five seconds it takes to say ‘I understand’.”

Giggling, Harry went to shove at Louis, and at the last second, remembered he couldn’t do that with his impaired state. He frowned to himself, noticing how odd it felt to go for so long without teasing touches from Louis. As it was, Louis’ hands were gripping his crutches and Harry couldn’t really be playful with his injured friend. Something ached inside him despite reminding himself he was being far too dramatic about the whole thing. 

“That’s a load of rubbish. Jay’s going to tell you to rest and you’re going to argue back that you have more important things to do.”

“Oi! When’d you turn into such a brat. Thought it was a rule to be nice to the dying and injured!”

Oh, god, the sound of Louis teasing him. He’d missed it, even if it had been only a few hours since he had. It felt sweet and hot, and he wanted to burn himself from head to toe with it. 

When they finally ended their long hobble down the hallway, Harry unlocked the door for Louis, and right away ran in front of him to pull back the blankets on the bed. 

Louis stopped by the side of his bed, raising his eyebrows at Harry. “Thanks, now undress me, will ya?” 

Harry could feel how his eyes widened subconsciously, hands already trembling just at the thought of being the one to peel off Louis’ kit. He probably felt dirty underneath the material, seeing as he’d worked up a sweat on the pitch. It’d be doing him a favor to take it off, but Harry couldn’t help how his feet were suddenly glued to the spot, his breathing shallow. Naturally, his eyes darted from Louis’ torso to the bed where Louis’d have to sit in order for Harry to be able to take off his pants. And it wasn’t like Harry hadn’t ever seen Louis in just his pants, but somehow being the one to actually do the undressing was something that made Harry’s brain short-circuit. Quite a dumb reaction for someone who was so comfortable with their own nudity. 

“I’m just taking the piss, calm down. Jesus, does my cast make me look that bad?”

And, no. No, that wasn’t it at all. Louis was radiant as ever, cast or not. It was just. . .being in Louis’ bedroom, being so explicitly asked by Louis himself to be the one to strip him of his garments, to think about how if he did he’d be close enough to smell the dried sweat on his warm skin. It’d be crossing some imaginary line Harry knew he should avoid crossing or getting close to at all costs. Like, he’d be violating the terms of their friendship if he did. . .Wouldn’t he be?

Smirking cheekily to himself, Louis watched as Harry tried to regain composure. 

“Erm, no, Lou. You work the cast really well.”

The furrow in Louis’ brow formed that adorable line as he squinted up at Harry. “You’re a terrible liar, love, always have been.”

Taking Louis’ shoes off, he murmured under his breath, “I wasn’t lying.” 

Louis started to say something, but Harry wasn’t having any of it. 

“I imagine you’re quite hungry,” Harry said, trying to get his brain off of  _ undressing Louis _ \--that and the fact Louis used one of those pet names that always made Harry feel like preening. He moved round the room, placing things out of the way of the path to the door. There were cleats and converse, and lots of random books on government as well as theatrical history. The evidence of Louis’ interests were strewn across every surface in his hall, and Harry found it to be endearing. “So, I’ll make you some noodles. Is that alright?”

“I expected a four course meal here, but,” Louis heaved a sigh that sounded like it took effort to let out,  _ “I suppose _ some noodles will be sufficient enough.”

Logically, Harry knew Louis was only teasing, knew he was honestly grateful to be cared for. But that didn’t mean some part deep down inside him ached to do better for him, felt shame for thinking that he could serve up such an inadequate meal when Louis really deserved a king’s dinner. 

“Okay, I promise I’ll make them really good,” Harry said, moving towards the microwave. 

“I know you will, H,” came Louis’ soft response from behind him. 

If Harry and Louis hadn’t had such a strange ability since the day they’d met to be so attuned to each other--what the other was saying, doing, feeling--Harry wouldn't have recognized the sounds behind him for what they were as the microwave whirred on. 

Based off of the small grunts and the whispered swearing, Louis was pulling off his kit now, the clothes falling to the floor Harry had just cleaned up with a soft, barely-there sound. 

Louis and Harry had had plenty of moments where they’d been half-naked in front of each other before, so why now was it affecting Harry the way it was? Puzzled, Harry squeezed his eyes shut and did his best to tamper down the strange feeling growing in his gut. Louis was his best friend, and he wasn’t going to make things weird between them simply because his mind was wandering. 

He probably just needed to get laid soon--it had been more than awhile.

After taking the cup of noodles out of the microwave, Harry turned around to see Louis scrolling on his phone, laying in all his shirtless, half-naked glory. 

“D’you have, like, a little tray or summat?” Harry asked, scratching his ankle with his other toe. 

His eyes darted around the room looking for one, trying his best not to let his gaze wander back to Louis’ exposed torso. 

Looking up from his phone, Louis looked round the room as well. “Not unless my mum dropped one off last time she was here.”

“Well, we’ll have to buy you one soon,” Harry said, grabbing a stray wash cloth and folding it under the hot plastic cup of noodles. “Be careful, okay? It’s hot.”

“Thanks, Harry,” Louis grinned at him, gingerly taking the food from him. “You don’t have to be so careful with me, you know.”

“Well, you’re injured. And I’m gonna do my best to help you make a fast recovery,” Harry said, grabbing a pillow that was laying forlornly at the end of the bed and positioning it under Louis’ knee. 

Hissing, Louis nearly dropped the hot noodles on himself as his body jerked with pain. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” Harry gasped. 

“No, it’s alright. I’m just still really sore there still,” Louis reassured, giving a weak smile. 

“Oh! That reminds me! I need to get you some ice packs,” Harry thought aloud. “I can pick up a food tray, too.”

“You know, you really don’t have to do all this. If anyone should be waiting on me hand and foot, it’s Oli,” Louis laughed. 

A ping sounded through the room, and Louis picked up his phone. Waving it in the air, he pointed to it. “See, he even just told me he’d help me get better. He keeps apologizing like I’m actually mad at him. I mean, it was just an accident. Anyway, I can definitely text him to get any supplies I need--”

“No!” Harry blurted, getting Louis to look up from where he’d been texting on his phone. 

With clenched fists, he tried to calm himself, internally shoving down the almost animalistic need to be the only one to be taking care of Louis’ needs. Oli wouldn’t do it right, even if he did know Louis longer. It had to be him, he wouldn’t allow it to be anyone else. No one could know what Louis needed better than Harry. 

“I mean. . .Like, it’s fine. Really, Lou. I’ve got it under control. I’m already here, anyway,” Harry explained, trying to sound casual. 

Louis was looking at him with those perfectly curved eyebrows reaching for his hairline. “Okay, H,” he replied slowly, “if you say so.”

He did, and he jumped into action, grabbing Louis’ laundry bag and stuffing more clothes in, grabbing the kit that was still warm with Louis’ sweat and body heat, glad to have something to focus on in hopes it’d erase the full flush that had bloomed on his face at his irrational outburst. 

As he gathered what he needed, Louis called up his mum, and Harry savored the half of the conversation he could hear. There was something calming about simply existing in Louis’ presence, getting to be present for the intimate moments of him having a conversation with his mum or sisters. 

“Mum, please, I promise I’ll not do anything the doctor doesn’t recommend. . .Well, if it makes you feel any better, Harry’s watching me like a hawk. . .yeah, yeah. . . it’s like I’ve got a live-in nurse. Maybe you should send some scrubs over for him to wear,” Louis’ low raspy chuckle stirred something in Harry’s gut. He kept his eyes down as he gathered everything in his arms, avoiding meeting Louis’ gaze that wouldn’t lift off him. 

A thrill went up his spine as Louis continued talking to his mum about the whole incident, speaking about Harry as if he wasn’t there, gushing about how great he’d been at the hospital and when they’d gotten back. 

“He even called himself me  _ boyfriend _ so the nurse would let him wheel me in.”

Surprised Louis had heard that and remembered, Harry looked up, something hot burning through him at the smirk Louis was sporting, the wink nonchalantly thrown his way. 

Fumbling with the laundry bag and supplies, as well as his keys and the copy of the keys to Louis’ dorm Louis had given him a month after them hanging out, Harry tripped his way out of the room, the flush that had calmed down from before, now returning ten fold. 

It didn’t take him long to run the errands, and by the time he’d gotten back on campus with ice packs, a food tray, and Louis’ favorite snacks, the laundry was done. 

It was nearing around four o’clock, and Harry hadn’t bothered to even think about his own hunger that was now causing his stomach to rumble. Or about the fact that he had homework to do. 

When he let himself into Louis’ room, hands full, he was welcomed with the sound of Peaky Blinders playing on Louis’ laptop and with the sight of Louis napping peacefully on the bed, still half-naked, empty plastic cup of noodles sitting on the floor next to his bed. Harry knew for a fact that last night Louis had stayed up until the early hours of the morning trying to memorize the monologue he had to perform in his theatre class he was majoring in. If there was one thing Louis couldn’t be distracted from, it was his theatre homework. He’d rehearsed it on skype for Harry, meticulous and cruel to himself with how he kept getting how he thought the inflection should be on some words wrong. Fascinated by the passion in the way he went about it, Harry had been happy to stop his own studying of ethics to watch him lose himself in his craft so much that sometimes he forgot he was even on Skype and Harry was his audience. 

Just as when he was awake, he entranced Harry when he was asleep. He reached over his still form to close his laptop, taking a moment to appreciate the sweep of Louis’ long lashes twitching over the soft skin of his cheeks every now and again. He wished he had more moments like this, where he could unabashedly study his every feature that only added to his larger than life personality. Harry was grateful every day that he could even spend time with Louis alone, that he was lucky enough to call him his friend. 

“Do nurses normally stare at their patients for such long periods of time?” Louis asked, eyes still closed. 

And then they fluttered open and oh--blue, blue, blue with the slightest shade of grey mixed in--sharp and soft, stormy and peaceful all at once. 

He didn’t realize how close he’d hovered over Louis until Louis’ shaky breath hit his own lips. 

That piercing gaze flicked down to Harry’s lips, and when his gaze was returned again, Louis’ eyes became challenging. 

“Well? Are you going to bring me that ice pack? My knee is killing me, Haz. I think those painkillers wore off.”

Harry was breathless when he pulled away, thankful for the demand as it gave him an excuse to put back the distance he told himself he’d never cross with Louis. Still, the charged expression he’d seen form in Louis’ eyes right before him made him feel tingly. The ice pack he pulled out of the shopping bag did nothing to tamper down the electricity that sparked sporadically in his veins, making him feel jumpy and on edge. 

_ More, more, more, _ Harry thought,  _ give me more to do so I can get control over this feeling. _ He needed another command, needed to put this strange energy flowing in his blood into something, needed to do something  _ for _ Louis to please him before  _ Harry _ did something  _ to _ Louis to please  _ himself. _ When he sat on the bed, his eyes couldn’t help but land on the soft bulge in Louis’ blue pants, gaze trailing down the thick expanse of bare thigh exposed to the air and Harry’s wandering eyes that were beautifully smattered with coarse, dark hair. 

“I really should get you a nice nurse outfit. You’d look cute with one of them hats on your curls. Give me something nice to look at while I’m bound to this bed.”

Affronted, Harry looked up abruptly. “Are you saying I don’t already look nice enough with the way my curls are?”

“‘Course you do. But I never see them without the handkerchief. Take it off, will ya? Free those lovely curls for me.”

Harry ducked his head, feeling vulnerable and strange, and weirdly turned on. Louis knew he didn’t like the length his curls were at, knew the constant handkerchief wearing was a way to cover up an awkward hair stage. But to be asked to see them like that? It felt big, important. And how could he say no, especially with Louis looking at him like  _ that, reclined  _ with his arm bent behind his head, eyes hooded with the angle, _ shirtless.  _

“You’re just doing this to embarrass me because you’re temporarily impaired,” he argued, half-heartedly, already feeling that heat in his cheeks form as he freed his curls. 

Louis sort of seemed to forget what they were talking about, forgot that his role in their relationship was to be the quickest with the witty comebacks. His hand not behind his head twitched on the bed, brushing Harry’s knee where his trousers had a tear in them. The accidental skin on skin contact felt like an electric shock--only a very small ration of a feeling that Harry needed a very large dose of. 

“There we go,” Louis murmured to himself, taking in Harry and his awkward curls like he was some kind of greek statue. “Mm. God, yeah,” Louis whispered, eyes lazily closing. “That ice pack is doing the trick.”

Sluggishly, he opened his eyes again, gaze back to studying Harry. “Careful how well you treat me, love, ‘cause I could get used to this.”

“Me too,” Harry murmured back, looking away from his gaze that was still fixed on him. 

Harry wished the ‘this’ he was referring to was close proximity to Harry all the time, to a domestic life where he took care of him better than he could dream of. Not to the fact he was bedridden. Maybe Louis’ knee was just what he needed to use as an excuse to show Louis how great of a caretaker he could be. Certainly, he was better than Oli could ever hope to be. He couldn’t believe Louis would think for even a second that Harry would let Oli be the one to take care of him when Harry was standing right there in front of him.  _ Honestly. _

Maybe it was time for Harry to face the fact his feelings had never really been platonic towards Louis, even at the start of their friendship. 

Wordlessly, he got up and began folding and putting Louis’ laundry away, cognizant of the fact Louis was shamelessly staring at him all throughout. With his full attention on him, Harry began sweating, and he couldn’t fool himself into thinking it was because of the physical exertion of putting clothes in drawers. He went on to pick up the empty cup of noodles off the floor, and Louis unnecessarily had the audacity to soothe a hand on his knee, as if it was some sacred thing he had to caress. 

Harry dropped the cup of noodles before picking it up again and succeeding in tripping only once on his way to the trash bin across the room. 

When he was finished he pulled the food tray out of the shopping bag, waving it in the air, saying, “Ta-da!”

“You actually got it for me?” Louis asked, sounding genuinely surprised. 

“Obviously,” Harry replied, rolling his eyes. 

He was much too happy the sass and even the word was something he’d picked up from Louis. 

“You gonna make me breakfast in bed, then?” Louis asked, devilish smirk coming alive on his lips.

“Yeah,” Harry breathed, shocked breathless at the thought of getting to wake him up with his breakfast ready. 

Louis in the mornings was like a slice of heaven as long as the procedure was done right. Tea just the right amount of hot, cereal just the right amount of crunchy, milk poured into the bowl to the right depth. Harry had it all down to a science, he just hadn’t had the chance to do it lately. 

_ God,  _ even when Louis was grumpy it was a sight to behold. But Harry knew exactly how to coax him awake, voice soft and lulling. He’d murmur until bleary blue eyes appeared behind droopy eyelids, would stroke Louis’ birdsnest of hair ‘til it was somewhat tamed into something that didn’t resemble a week old kitten’s fur. His careful approach to waking the sleeping lion that Louis was, was rewarded with lots of half-asleep nonsense being mumbled to him about confusing dreams and cocooning into cuddles as Louis munched and slurped on his tea and cereal. 

“Come here, will ya? You’ve spent too much time cleaning and not enough time cuddling.” 

So, Harry slotted himself into the spot between Louis and the wall, heart picking up at the fact Louis’ skin was still very much exposed. Worse yet, his arm was bent behind his head, and he was making no move to lay it down. The space there looked so inviting, like it was begging for Harry’s head to lay there. He could practically hear Louis’ heartbeat in his ear already, could almost feel the soft of Louis’ skin gluing Harry’s cheek to him. 

Instead he settled for the cold of Louis’ other pillow that rested against the headboard, forlorn and where Harry usually sank his head against when they had movie nights or sleepovers.

Louis gave him a puzzled look, and Harry sort of felt like dying. Louis looked like a fucking poster boy for playboy with the way he was positioned in bed, and Harry could smell the dried sweat on his armpit hair. 

“Oi! What’re you doing all the way over there?” 

“What’d you mean?” Harry giggled.

And Louis may have injured his knee, but his arm was in good shape, toned and lean like the rest of his body. Harry let out a gasp when Louis wrapped his previously bent arm around his shoulders and pulled him over and down. 

“It’s not cuddling if you’re miles away,” Louis explained, leaving his arm around Harry. 

Trying to breathe instead of wheeze after just being manhandled onto Louis’ bare chest was one of the hardest things Harry had had to do in his adult life. Maybe his whole life. The smell of sweat was subtle but so much more prominent than before, and there were underlying tones of fading cologne and deodorant. Harry’s mouth watered, fingers twitching where they lay on Louis’ slight abs. 

“Told you you’d be begging for cuddles.” Harry’s voice was shaky when he spoke. 

He wasn’t ready for Louis’ fingers to slip under the thin shirt he was wearing, to pinch sharply at the padding on his hips that no amount of puberty could get rid of. A sharp gasp fell from Harry’s mouth, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a second, sending up a prayer that Louis wouldn’t notice how his cock twitched, how his whole body was trembling. 

“I don’t beg, baby,” Louis rasped. 

“Sure sounded similar to me,” Harry squeezed out, his muscles clenched. 

The air felt thick and Harry would be just fine with choking on the cloying scent of Louis’ sharp pheromones.

“Don’t make me kick you out of this bed,” Louis retorted, squeezing with his whole palm this time. 

Harry thought he’d like to keep that extra padding on his hips if Louis’ hands fit so well around them. 

“I know you won’t. You need me too much,” Harry tested. 

“That I do, Hazza, that I do,” Louis said, voice gone soft, like how it was during their calls at night.

Louis seemed flustered though, and he reached for the laptop. Peaky Blinders was still on-screen where Harry had stopped it, but Louis knew exactly what to switch it to--Gogglebox. It was their favorite show to watch together, and as the show began, he felt himself sink into the relaxed lines of Louis’ torso, his hands subconsciously playing with the waistband of Louis’ pants. Eventually, Louis’ hand wrapped around his wrist and pulled his fingers away from his waistband. Harry tried not to think much of it, tried not to feel hurt, tried not to overanalyze why his fingers were even inclined to go there, or better yet why Louis shifted his leg that wasn’t bound in a cast awkwardly and decided to pull the blankets over them. 

“Feeling cold?” 

“Hm?” Louis looked at him, startled. “Oh. . .no, I mean. Yeah. Sort of.”

“Want me to turn on your heater?”

Harry thought it odd to want a blanket or heater when they were producing a hell of a lot of body heat, but maybe that was a symptom of having an ice pack on your knee. . .or something. Louis was always cold anyway, so he couldn’t really justify his suspiciousness.

“No, no. ‘M fine,” Louis answered, squeezing at Harry’s hip again, gentle. 

Harry wondered how many different messages Louis could send using hip squeezes. Wondered what other words and sentences and feelings he could convey if he touched other parts of Harry’s body. 

As if hearing Harry’s thoughts, Louis’ hand carded through his curls, stroking his scalp every now and again in circular motions. 

“I think we should have a marathon tonight, and you should sleep over,” Louis said as the episode of Gogglebox was ending.

“Your wish is my command,” Harry said, dreamily. 

Truth be told, he hadn’t paid much attention to the show. Oftentimes, without Louis noticing it, Harry would slip away into his mind, studying Louis’ body as he laid next to him. He liked imagining scenarios with him and Louis, fun things he could suggest for them to do in the coming days. Louis liked spontaneity, and Harry loved catching him off-guard with a clever suggestion of fun things to do while they hung out. Delighted surprise and excitement were two of Harry’s favorite expressions on Louis’ honest face.

“Oh,  _ really _ ?” Louis pondered, finger twirling around a curl and tugging ever so slightly. 

“Mmm. Just gotta tell me what you want,” Harry slurred, close to half-asleep as Louis’ fingers massaged him. “I’ll be the Noah to your Allie.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that,” Louis murmured, chuckling since Harry had always acted  _ The Notebook _ scenes out as Allie with Louis as Noah. 

Instead of saying anything, though, Louis nuzzled his nose into Harry’s curls and rested it there.

Harry was sure he would be back to his determined and stubborn attitude by tomorrow, but for now he seemed to be milking his injury. He was savoring the hours before that would end, elated to be soaking in Louis’ bodyheat that was bound to make them both start sweating. 

If he was honest, Harry would drown in sweat if it kept him close to Louis. 

-*-

Harry spent the rest of his weekend doting on Louis, and even when the week started again, he made sure not to slack on his caretaking duties. 

No matter what state of mood he was in in the mornings, he knew Louis deserved to wake up to breakfast on his breakfast tray, a new ice pack on his knee, and his computer running so all Louis had to do was press a button and whatever show Harry noticed he had been watching was ready to play. 

At first, this all came as a surprise to Louis, and some protests were made which were met with Harry’s disgruntled frown and pouting about how Louis didn’t appreciate what he did. Harry hadn’t met anyone yet who’d been immune to his charms, and Louis was no exception.

Then, what Harry had predicted to himself would happen, never did. In fact, the exact opposite did. With each day that passed, Louis became increasingly more dependent on Harry’s help, even for things Harry knew deep down he could do himself.

Secretly, he wished there’d be no end to it. 

Everytime he did something for Louis, his reward was the satisfied grin shining on Louis’ face, and he felt as buzzed as he did when he drank just that side of too much tequila. When Monday had rolled around, and Harry had come back to Louis’ dorm that he’d begun to live out of since the injury happened, he felt smug as all hell when he held up Louis’ homework the second Louis started panicking about how he’d slept through all his classes. 

It may have been false hope, but Harry wondered if Louis, in actuality, hadn’t bothered setting an alarm because he had been unknowingly coming to expect that Harry would take care of him in every sense of the word. Either way, he reminded Louis that he was to stay off his feet for at least two weeks, keep it elevated, and that he would be responsible for helping him with any scholastic business. 

It was on Friday when Louis started to go stir-crazy, getting cranky over his injury, fed up with lounging around when he was normally so active. Harry felt for him, couldn’t imagine being someone who practically lived outdoors unless they were up on a stage learning to direct plays suddenly being confined to small quarters with a very not so small live-in maid. Or nurse. Louis joked about Harry being one or the other interchangeably, much to Harry’s discreet delight.

“D’you know what? I feel right fucking filthy. Haven’t had a shower in almost a week,” Louis observed.

Harry hadn’t noticed. Ok. . .maybe he  _ had _ noticed the sharp musk that Louis normally only got when he exerted himself playing footie or practiced scenes for his theatre classes for hours had started to become a constant aroma in the small room. It’s not like Harry was about to admit he didn’t mind it, nor was he ever going to admit, even to himself, that he didn’t say anything on the off-chance that Louis himself would ask him to prepare a shower. 

Harry had just finished putting the clothes away that Louis had discarded carelessly on the floor, as well as throwing out all the paper plates and take-out containers he’d used while Harry had been in lectures. By now, you’d think Louis would understand Harry would clean up the mess without being asked to. But every time he walked through the door of his room, Louis would stop whatever he was doing to cure his boredom, look at him with raised, expectant eyebrows from his reclined spot on the bed and wave at the mess with a disinterested limp wrist, saying something along the lines of, “Finally, Hazza. Room’s not gonna clean itself,” or, “Floor’s dirty, love. Would you mind?” 

As if the nonchalant, detached tone wasn’t enough to set something off in Harry’s core that made his lungs seem to constrict a bit, Louis’ gaze would wander from his show, book or phone, and seer a hole into Harry’s head or back for minutes at a time as he tidied. Harry would say something about if it wasn’t for the way it made his stomach and the air around them tight with the feeling that Harry simply existed for Louis’ needs to be met and eyes to have something nice to look at--if Harry was allowed to give himself that much importance. Sometimes it felt like he was being devoured whole with the way he felt Louis’ gaze roam over his form as he bent or squatted to pick up various miscellaneous dishware or articles of clothing. 

“Don’t really need this do you, babe?” Louis had asked once when Harry had bent over to pick up a mug that was sitting on the floor next to his nightstand. 

It may have been Harry’s own narcissism, but it seemed to have become a habit of Louis’ to place things on the floor instead of the nightstand, as if he realized that the harder he made Harry work, the more Harry felt a part of him was fulfilled. It caused Harry to be right beside where Louis was now stationed in bed, and Louis somehow always seemed to find a way to make subtle contact, whether subconsciously or consciously. 

Without waiting for an answer, Louis had captured Harry’s eyes as he gripped the handkerchief wrapped around his head that kept his curls from falling into his face. With a flick of his delicate wrist, he tugged it clean off. Stunned, Harry had frozen in his awkwardly bent-over position, curls springing out and down, unsaid words dying on his lips. He’d stared through the strands of his curls, jaw loose as he managed to catch just the slightest hint of a smirk twitching on Louis’ own lips before the evidence of it disappeared. 

“Yeah, that’s better,” Louis said to himself, and with those words Harry understood his curls were to be left free from restriction when he was in the private confines of Louis’ room. 

When they would end their day, normally by cuddling up together and talking or watching Gogglebox, Louis would sweeten the air with words of praise about how flawlessly clean the room was, how his pyjamas smelled so good from the laundry soap after Harry would do a load, how he’d never seen his room so organized, how he could always find everything since Harry had started cleaning it, etc, etc, etc. It was all done so effortlessly, slipped into their conversation so naturally that Louis almost managed to make it seem like it  _ hadn’t _ become a. . . _ thing. . . _ between them--as if it wasn’t some kind of game to see how far Louis could push Harry into doing favors for him. 

There were times when Louis was going on about how good his clothes smelled or felt coming straight from the drying machine and Harry had a difficult time not blurting out,  _ ‘yes, yes, yes, now let’s dirty them up, please sweat in them, please come in your pants so I have to get the stains out, ruin my hard work so I can do even better for you the next time, ruin the clothes, ruin  _ me!’ _. _

Some nights it was so extremely brutal, the flood of sexual longing. Harry and Louis were as intimate as any couple walking down the street--except for in regards to sex. They’d existed in this space for quite some time now, toeing the line of confessing feelings. They’d never crossed it though, and for some reason, it only made Harry that much more frantic, that much more determined to prove to Louis through housekeeping that he should be his one and only choice. 

There was something so domestic, so right--as if Harry was shaped and destined for it--about creating a routine that mainly revolved around caring for Louis. And now, he just might be asked to include bathing duties in that grand routine. His heart picked up speed at the thought of it. 

He kept his eyes on the book he was reading as he lay on Louis’ tiny bed, afraid Louis would see the hunger that lay ashamed and neglected in his stare. 

“Erm, well, I bought a covering for your cast if you need one. It’s waterproof. Specifically for showers and all.”

He felt Louis shift abruptly next to him, the surprise coming off him in waves. It was a moment before he regained composure and sat back against the wall once more. “I’m quite lucky to have you,” Louis murmured, brushing a stray curl off Harry’s face, one that’d gone damp with sweat when Harry’d cleaned just a half hour before. “You think of everything. How many students at this uni can say they have a hot live-in maid  _ and _ nurse on hand?”

Something squirmed in Harry’s stomach, prideful and needy. “I’m guessing a total of zero,” he replied. His cheek burned where Louis’ fingertip had left a trail of fire on it.

“Those poor bastards. Having to suffer in their dirty rooms with no one cute to sleep with.” Louis heaved a dramatic sigh, shaking his head in mock pity.

Harry chuckled, his blush deepening just as his gratitude was that Louis liked his hair free since it was great for obscuring his red cheeks from his sight. Harry felt like he was in a constant state of blushing as of late. 

The wording was inappropriate, but it only served to remind Harry that they really were living as one unit--basically, as a couple, minus that sexual intimacy Harry was beginning to long for in the daylight now, too. They had naturally fallen into this close co-existence without either of them even addressing it, and he wondered if anyone else had a friendship that progressed like this. 

It was when Louis hauled himself up, grabbing his crutches from where they leaned against the nightstand that Harry finally looked up at his book. 

“Where are you going?” Harry hoped Louis didn’t hear the panic in his voice.

“Injured people need to shower, too. I’m not going to be soiling the clean sheets you wash with my lack of personal hygiene. I’d ask you to help me put on that protective covering, but you probably want to change our bedding while I’m in the showers.”

Our bedding. Harry felt his heart beat against his ribcage in an attempt to free itself. If it did, it’d jump right into Louis’ hands. When he looked up to answer Louis, he saw a vulnerability in his features that was illuminated in the soft glow of the nightstand lamp. Harry’s brain caught up with what he’d said. The weight of the offer Louis was giving him fully settled in his gut. Louis was testing the rules of their little game. He was both asking a question and giving Harry an easy way out that wouldn’t change the delicate dynamic they’d built over the week. Or maybe this had been building since they’d met. 

In no time, Harry jumped out of bed, snatching Louis’ washing supplies and the cast cover, throwing it all into a bag. 

Cocking his head, Louis examined Harry, who was already waiting to leave with Louis by the door. He seemed to come to some sort of conclusion before he hobbled himself over and through the door. Harry followed him like a lost puppy through the Halls, the communal showers a bit away from Louis’ room. He walked behind him, trying to collect his thoughts and plan each and every move out that he’d make when they made it there. He couldn’t risk doing something to scare Louis off just because he was slowly coming to the realization that it wasn’t normal to be half-hard around your bossy friend all the time. 

Once they reached the showers, Harry had no warning before Louis was stripping down and stepping into a stall, leaving the curtain open for Harry. 

“Erm,” he murmured, not getting any closer. 

“Well, are you going to come in here like a good lad, or am I supposed to come out and get you myself?” 

God, this was a terrible idea. Really and truthfully the worst favor Harry had agreed to doing. The sight of Louis’ plump ass cheeks disappearing into the stall was seared into Harry’s vision and now he was expected to walk in there and act as if his cock wasn’t stirring to life? Louis was literally meters away, fully nude, and Harry was supposed to just waltz in like that was something mates did with each other. 

No, they had crossed the platonic intimacy line into sexual territory long ago, and Harry was wondering how they’d managed to do it under each other’s noses. 

It was starting to become a knee-jerk reaction to simply do whatever was asked of him, as long as the one who asked for the favors had a raspy voice that scraped against Harry’s eardrums and his lower abdomen, stirring secret feelings that Harry had once promised to himself that he’d never let see the light of day. 

He really should’ve expected the nonchalance Louis was displaying when he stepped into the stall, but his stomach still bottomed out, and heaved with a gasp. Leaning against the white tiled walls was a gloriously naked Louis, picking at his fingernails as if he was in line to get some tea at the cafe. 

_ Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look,  _ Harry chanted in his head, eyes watering with the effort it took to not get a glimpse of the length that fit so snugly in Louis’ pants. 

Looking up at him through his eyelashes, Louis extended his leg that was wrapped in a cast out, nodding towards it. 

“Go on, then. The damn cast won’t cover itself.”

Harry didn’t dare speak. For once, he was clean out of witty comebacks. Seeing a naked Louis could do that to him, and he wasn’t the slightest bit mad about it. 

“Wait,” Louis commanded, and Harry froze in his tracks. “Do you want this, H? If you don’t, don’t be afraid to leave. I’ll figure out how to get the cast on myself.”

The other man seemed ashamed, like maybe he thought he was pushing for too much. It only turned Harry on more that Louis was so concerned with his approval of what was happening. 

Dread and desperation filled every particle that made up Harry’s whole existence. “No,” he almost growled. “I’m going to put this on your cast. I’m going to do it perfect, just how you want it, exactly as good as I’ve done every other favor for you. I want--I  _ need _ to, Louis,” Harry breathed his name. 

“Jesus,” Louis hissed.

It all would’ve been fine, but Louis’ cock twitched, and Harry’s eyes were drawn to the movement. 

“Hey,” Louis barked, settling right back into the little seduction game. “Eyes are up here, Chap. For someone so good at cooking and cleaning, I thought you’d have more manners.”

Shame and regret surged through Harry’s core, making him chub up even more. The power Louis’ voice possessed alone was something that made Harry’s spine rattle with trembling breaths. Harry had never experienced being so willing to serve someone else. But with his best friend, he could see this becoming a lifestyle. That was a conversation for another time though, because Louis’ blue eyes were burning him alive. 

“I expected more from someone like you, you know. Thought a cheeky lil’ lad like you that’s so good at keeping a home would know it’s not very polite to stare at another man’s cock.”

Harry’s breathing was shallow. 

“Especially,” Louis continued, “when he’s come into my shower stall to be of service.”

“I’m--Louis--” Harry whined. 

“Strip,” Louis commanded, voice all energy and electric, a wire frayed at the edges, sparking. 

Harry paid no mind to the fact his clothes were discarded on the gross tile floor. He was too busy trying to catch his breath when he saw Louis’ own lean muscled hand wrap around the base of his firm cock. “You make a pretty site when you’re doing what you're told. Know what’d make you prettier?”

“No, no,” Harry was shaking his head like a fool, feeling possessed, “but I swear, whatever it is, I’ll do it. I can do it, Lou. I can,” Harry babbled, breathless, a mess. 

“Take those clothes you just soiled by being so careless as to throw them to the ground and put them here,” Louis pointed to a spot on the tiled floor directly in front of him, “and put the cover on.”

Harry stumbled, hard cock bobbing as he picked up his pile of clothes and dropped them and himself unceremoniously in front of Louis. This close to him, who still had that hand wrapped around his own cock, Harry could smell the sharp natural scent, what he was smelling in the room now ten times more potent. He inhaled, jaw loose, letting the bitter smell sting his tongue. 

He made quick work of the cover on Louis’ cast, but before he could get up, Louis had turned the shower on full blast. The warm blast of water rained down on him indirectly as Louis was standing somewhat in the way of it. Nonetheless, his face scrunched, eyes squeezing shut. The whine that spilled from his mouth when Louis gripped his curls echoed off the tiles, and Harry felt the blush in his cheeks turn full-body. 

Tender, despite his harsh words and stern voice, Louis was obsessively pulling his wet curls back from his face. The strands stuck to Harry’s forehead and cheeks, glueing themselves to the surface of skin that covered his neck as well. If Harry strained his ears, he could hear soft words being spoken, Louis seeming to have lost himself to studying the features on the younger lad’s face. His thumb stroked over his lips, and Harry flicked his tongue out to taste. He lost his breath when Louis suddenly hooked his thumb into his mouth, digging past his tongue, the rest of his fingers clenching around his chin and jaw. WIth this advantage, Louis pulled him up slowly, being patient with Harry’s clumsy rise to his feet. 

“Oh, honey,” Louis whispered, like it was some prayer, right before he replaced his thumb with his lips. 

Water cascaded down over both their faces, and Harry had never experience that kind of pleasure. He really couldn’t say he was surprised when Louis was demanding full ownership of his mouth with his sharp tongue. He licked into Harry’s mouth with as much agility as he maneuvered a ball on a footie pitch, playful and teasing and entirely in control. Harry was powerless to do anything but stand there, knees wobbling even though he had two perfectly good ones, and letting Louis have his way with his mouth and lips. With no shame left in him, he groaned, full bellied and unrestrained as Louis nipped harshly at his bottom lip. 

“That was beautiful,” Louis murmured to him, pulling back.

In the next second, Louis placed a firm hand on Harry’s shoulder and he was shoved to his knees again. “Do you think you can moan that prettily with a cock in your mouth, Harry?” 

“Oh my god, oh my god, yes, Louis, oh my god,” Harry blurted, squirming on his pile of clothes, cock neglected and throbbing. His hands gripped at Louis’ thighs, leg hair gloriously long and clinging to golden skin. 

“Shut up and suck me off so I can hear what you sound like while choking on my dick,” Louis demanded, tapping Harry’s cheeks with his thick length before the head was sliding towards Harry’s lips, precome smearing on his skin from his ear to his lips until it was melting onto Harry’s salivating tongue. 

The moan that was let out sounded like it was pained, but that was only because this--Louis’ salt, his most primal taste--was the best reward he could’ve been given. Harry had earned this, and he didn’t care how slutty he’d sounded. 

He knew getting to have Louis’ cock was the highest praise. 

Though Louis’ words were dirty, when Harry looked up through the spray raining down on him, he could see that sincere expression in Louis’ deep blues. Up until now, Harry had convinced himself that look was just fondness. But that went far past fondness, adoration, concern. It was a four letter word and it was Lust’s sister. 

When Harry resisted the grip Louis had on his locks to try to take more of Louis in his mouth, Louis pulled him off. 

“Carry me to the benches. Now, Harry,” Louis gasped. 

After so many days of feeling like Louis was fully in control of him and every circumstance, it was a headrush to see Louis coming a bit undone simply because of his mouth. Of course, just as Louis asked, he sprung into action, extra gentle and taking his time when he lifted Louis so as not to disturb his knee. 

Louis was heavier than he looked, and it shouldn’t have but it only made Harry more turned on. When Louis was laid out on the cold water closet benches, naked as the day he was born, he pulled Harry down with him. 

That hand was back in Harry’s locks, pressing Harry close to his shoulder so he could rasp into his ear. 

“You’re going to get my cock sopping wet, okay, Harry? Alright, baby?” Harry nodded, whining as his hips stuttered into the hard line of Louis’ bare cock against his stomach.

Louis couldn’t even silence his constant hitching noises with his lips. In fact, the sharp sting of Louis’ canines catching on the plump, abused round of Harry’s lips only made the stilted noises increase, become louder. “ _ Yeah _ , yeah, you are, my eager baby. And then I’m gonna fuck you good, love. And tomorrow, you’re gonna wash those clothes you dirtied with a sore arse. Every time you bent over in my room, I couldn’t help but stare at that arse of yours.”

Breathless and feeling wrecked already, Harry licked and sucked his way down Louis’ salty-hot torso, biting into his muscles as they shifted with the stuttering of his hips. It was obvious Louis needed this as much as Harry did. Harry let a string of spit dangle down from his mouth, entranced by how it kissed Louis’ purple cockhead effectively connecting them to each other. That may as well have been the only finesse Harry displayed, but neither lad cared. The more spit and froth that made obscene noises as Harry bobbed up and down over Louis, the more both of them groaned. 

Pretty soon, Louis couldn’t take it anymore, dragging Harry up by the hair. “C’mon, baby. Ride my cock until you come.”

That was a command no one would ever want to ignore. 

A searing hot heat burned through every limb in Harry’s body, every extremity when Louis kept his gaze on Harry’s face, as if documenting every twitch and grimace and grit of teeth. Harry knew his face was expressive and to have his full attention was making him bear down faster than normal on Louis’ well-girthed cock. 

Louis watched as Harry picked up speed, knees digging into the metal of the bench they were on. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, not until Louis got his foot, the one attached to the good leg, on the ground. 

It became a chorus of whines and moans and prayers to god echoing around them as Louis burrowed in and out of Harry’s searing hot heat, his ass tight, swallowing Louis’ length so wholly everytime, Louis had the urge to just drive in deeper and spill his come in Harry. 

Harry was a sight to behold, curls hanging in front of his face, damp and unruly and swinging with each thrust up. His nipples jerked on every upward jolt of cock in him, pecs trembling as he tried to keep himself from collapsing onto Louis. It didn’t help that anytime he opened his eyes, through the tears in them, he could see how Louis’ gaze was still giving him a command. 

_ Come untouched, fall apart on me, I’m going to ruin you for anyone else, _ it said. 

Harry threw his head back and lost his voice when Louis found his prostate and every inward stroke ended with Harry’s body going rigid, sensitive and close to exploding. The sound of their skin was so loud that any innocent student walking by could hear them. 

Harry was near constantly whimpering at this point. 

Out of nowhere, a firm slap to his arse made him yelp. 

“Fucking come already, Harry, you’ve earned it,” Louis bit out, teeth clenched as he redoubled his efforts. 

At that, Harry’s face screwed up and his body seemed to go rigid and bunch in on itself as it was displaced from its seat with every powerful thrust from Louis’ hips. He was silent throughout and Louis listened to the sound of his ass being kissed with his hips. 

The wail came after, and Louis had no regrets when he pulled out and spilled white over Harry’s pert cheeks. He kept his own sounds silenced by tugging Harry down over him into a searing kiss. Harry felt like putty in his hands, mouth gaping with breaths as he gave himself over to being something Louis would forever own to use however he pleased. He loved how Louis kissed him, like there wasn’t enough time to explore all the hidden places in his mouth.

They laid there for moments after, the fire in their kisses burning down to embers. For a few minutes, Harry simply laid his head on Louis’ chest, content with listening to his heartbeat calm down to a normal rate again. 

“So, when you told the nurse you were my boyfriend, were you also trying to tell me something?” Louis asked after awhile. 

Harry giggled and bit his shoulder. 

Later, they would discuss the details of where they would go from here. For now, Harry just wanted to get fully and thoroughly acquainted with Louis' mouth. Thankfully, Louis was more than happy to oblige. 


End file.
